


Heikō

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 22:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: "That was a different universe, wasn’t it? You can get to it using this door sometimes, but not all of the time. You got lucky that day, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so scared now -," Suga accuses, swallowing past the hurt in his throat."Shut up!" Yamaka practically shouts, voice trembling.





	Heikō

"Tooru," Suga says.

 

"Hmm," the other murmurs, the tip of his nose skimming the line of Suga’s throat. He’s not really listening, Suga can tell, that thought confirmed when another open-mouthed kiss is brushed over his skin.

 

" _Tooru_ ," Suga says again, a little more firmly.

 

_"What an odd door,"_ he thinks at the same time, thoroughly distracted from the warmth tucked into his side, from the lazy pleasure he had been enjoying seconds before.

 

Oikawa finally leans back, eyebrows furrowed, mouth curving with a petulant frown.

 

"What?" he asks. "What could possibly distract you from -"

 

Suga points. Oikawa’s eyes follow.

 

A few seconds of silence tick by before…

 

"It’s a door, babe," Oikawa deadpans.

 

Suga doesn’t answer, just disentangles himself fully from Oikawa’s grip, the rosy haze of what had been an intense make-out session fading from his cheeks as he stares at the opposite wall.

 

"Kou," Oikawa says. "Are you feeling okay?"

 

_"No,"_ Suga thinks. Something weird beats in his chest, makes him feel like someone is knocking at his ribcage, whispering secrets in his ear.

 

The day had started off normal enough. Just another Saturday, another trip to Heikō, the coffee shop with the convenient little corner in the back that shielded whoever decided to sit there from prying eyes.

 

Heikō had been where Suga had first met Oikawa. The greenhouse interior — with its glass walls and ceiling, with its overabundance of flourishing, viridescent plants, with its black wood tables and hanging lightbulbs and sparkling terrariums — had witnessed their relationship bloom into something Suga still can’t quite wrap his head around sometimes.

 

This back corner, this tucked-away nook, is their spot. Suga always orders whatever’s new on the menu, Oikawa always gets his lavender latte with extra honey and extra cream, and they always come back here, spend hours talking or sitting in each other’s company — or making out.

 

Suga knows this corner. He knows all of the plants back here, knows that the resident orange tabby sometimes likes to come and sleep in that patch of sunlight on the table that falls right before dusk, knows that his initials and Oikawa’s are scratched into a very inconspicuous stretch of black wood that melds together the panes of glass for the walls, right there, down by where Oikawa’s elbow is now.

 

They had done that on the same night that Oikawa had walked him home for the first time. That had been the night he had stopped in the middle of the street to pull Suga close and kiss him under the halo of a streetlamp. He had smelled like sea salt, like oolong and ginger. There had been a healing cut just under his right eye from a recent skateboarding accident, accentuated by the plum smudge of a bruise along his cheekbone.

 

Suga knows this corner.

 

And that door doesn’t belong here.

 

"That door is new," Suga says out loud. Oikawa’s frown deepens.

 

"I’m…," he starts, drawing his words out in the way that a person does when they’re very, very bewildered, "pretty sure that door has always been there."

 

Suga squints at it, adjusts his fake, black-rimmed glasses on his face with two fingers.

 

Yes, that door has always been there, Oikawa’s right. Suga’s pretty sure it’s a supply closet of some sort.

 

But today…

 

Today, it seems different. Today, there’s something about the lacquered, moss-colored wood that appears… strange.

 

Suga frowns as he tries to put his finger on it.

 

_"Something’s missing…"_

 

The back of a hand is suddenly pressed to his forehead. Suga swivels in his seat to meet his boyfriend’s nervous gaze.

 

"Gee, Kou, you feel pretty hot," Oikawa fake-laughs. "Maybe we should get you home so you can have some soup, lie down-"

 

Suga smacks Oikawa’s hand away.

 

"I’m not sick you liar, and you know it," he retorts, smirking just a little at Oikawa’s overdramatic whine of pain. "Now help me figure out what’s going on."

 

"Suga, wait-," Oikawa starts, dropping his facade, and the hand he’s cradling, and reaching for Suga instead. 

 

But Suga has already slipped out of the booth, gracefully avoiding Oikawa’s fingers, and is already in front of the door before his boyfriend can say more.

 

Suga takes a breath. The back of his neck prickles.

 

The oddness is still there. It shimmers, wavers, something not quite tangible enough for Suga to really reach out and touch but still there enough that Suga is curious. It makes the door appear half-there and half-not.

 

A moss-colored door, submerged in an illusion, hovering between this and that, and Suga knows all of the stories, has been obsessed with alternate universes since he was five, knows where his mind is headed as he stares at a surface that isn’t complete, that is missing something to anchor it completely to this café.

 

_"You won’t know until you open it,"_ his thoughts murmur.

 

Suga reaches for the door.

 

"Um, excuse me?"

 

Suga jumps, whirls around right as his fingertips brush against cool metal.

 

One of the girls from behind the counter stands in front of him, both hands on her hips. Her pink lips are pushed into a scowl, the shiny name tag pinned to her chest reads "Yamaka Mika".

 

"Aha," Suga laughs nervously, scratching at a pretend itch behind his right ear. "Sorry, I was just -"

 

Oikawa hovers behind the barista. He looks like he could almost be slightly nervous on Suga’s behalf, but, for the most part, his eyes shine with a smug "I told you so".

 

Suga sighs.

 

"I was just looking for the bathroom," he lies horribly. It’s the worst excuse he could’ve come up with really. All of the baristas must know Suga and Oikawa and their respective orders by heart by now.

 

Yamaka, as expected, looks more than half-way dubious, stalks past Suga to grab the handle of the door, and yanks it open.

 

Suga has to swallow down his gasp as he turns with her, certain, for a split second, that something unexplainable will lie on the other side.

 

But -

 

"It’s a storage closet," Yamaka says dryly. She pops her bubblegum, rubs at the faint edge of what Suga knows is a snake tattoo that shows just under the sleeve of one arm.

 

Canisters of tea, cartons of powdered creamer and jars of flavoring syrup, miscellaneous coffee shop equipment, and stacks of styrofoam cups and cardboard sleeves is the only sight that stands before them.

 

"Bathrooms are that way," Yamaka adds. She points with a black manicured nail.

 

"Right," Suga answers, a flush of embarrassment prickling at the back of his neck. "Sorry."

 

He turns back to Oikawa — who is openly grinning now — and grabs his cellphone from where he left it at their table.

 

Mortification burns at his ears, Oikawa sniggering beside him as they leave, setting their mugs down in a bin by the counter on their way.

 

Suga feels stupid. He had given in to a childhood fantasy and had made a fool out of himself in the process. There’s disappointment there too, just a little bit, fluttering at his shoulders.

 

"'Looking for the bathroom'," Oikawa quotes, a wicked smile tilting his lips. "You do know that we’re practically famous here, right? I bet even the new hires know who we are. Besides, you _know_ that’s just a storage closet."

 

"Oh please," Suga retorts quickly. "You have no room to talk. Remember that time you dragged me out of my house at four in the morning to climb to the school roof because you were _convinced_ that you had seen a UFO crash-land somewhere in that area? And then you told the teacher who found us that you had lost your house key. Why would your house key be on top of the roof? And just because you don’t believe in alternate universes doesn’t mean they aren’t real, Mr. Area 51 man."

 

"Okay, first of all, I definitely _did_ see a UFO crash to Earth that night and -"

 

"There was nothing for miles," Suga deadpans. "We _walked_ through the _woods_ until dawn broke."

 

"- and _second of all_ ," Oikawa says over him, raising his voice, "I never said I didn’t believe in alternate universes. But that’s your thing, babe. And I like to tease you."

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Suga grumbles. He lets Oikawa stop and kiss his forehead before they exit through the glass doors at the front, inhales honey and lavender.

 

The entire time, until the front doors swing closed behind them, Suga can feel the weight of Yamaka’s eyes on his shoulders.

 

 

 

"Does it look like a regular door today?"

 

Suga throws a crumpled ball of paper at Oikawa’s head before he sticks his tongue out and turns his focus back to his homework.

 

Oikawa laughs softly, nudges at one of Suga’s ankles under the table, but doesn’t say anything else.

 

It’s raining today. Big sheets of it pour down onto the glass roof and walls, splashing and pattering and thundering, blurring everything outside into an indistinguishable mess.

 

The watery light smudges with the green of the plants, makes Suga feel like he’s sitting underwater, turns the backs of his hands the color of sea-foam as he scrawls across paper.

 

He glances up for just a moment, stretching, blinking away numbers and formulas, watches Oikawa rub absentmindedly at Toffee — who’s decided to sprawl every furry inch of herself over the middle of their table — and then adjust his glasses, turn another page of his novel.

 

Suga squints at the title.

 

" _The Hidden Reality_."

 

"Tooru," Suga says, not bothering to keep the surprise out of his voice, "what’re you reading?"

 

Oikawa’s hand pauses mid-stroke down Toffe’s silky coat, the tips of his ears turn the barest shade of pink, and he looks up.

 

"Nothing, s’just payback for all of my UFO hunts," he mumbles, hand shifting to tap a nail against the side of his powder blue mug.

 

"Mmm, oh really?" Suga pushes, amusement fizzing in his chest, watching Oikawa’s habitual nervous gesture and the flush at his ears that gets deeper.

 

Toffee meows plaintively at her interrupted petting session, rolls on her back to paw at Oikawa’s arm.

 

Suga huffs out a laugh, leaves his calculus and his coffee — the latest experiment of Heikō, some kind of pistachio butter-based latte with rose water and honey syrup — behind to instead slip from his side of the table, slide in next to Oikawa, and cuddle up close.

 

Oikawa’s face is the loveliest shade of cerise now, brown eyes widening behind his glasses when Suga reaches up to take them off.

 

The rain continues to hush around them, mottles Oikawa’s peach-colored sweater with shadows of constellations and softens everything else, dampens the colors of the cafe into gentle pastels.

 

Suga leans in until he can just barely brush his lips against his boyfriend’s, until he can’t count Oikawa’s eyelashes without going cross-eyed.

 

"Kou," Oikawa urges, voice impatient and half-whiny.

 

"I like to tease you," Suga murmurs before he closes the rest of the distance.

 

Toffee chirps at them disdainfully and Suga feels the tip of her bottlebrush tail hit his arm as she stalks away.

 

Oikawa is soft and warm under Suga’s lips and hands.

 

He smells a little like gym floor wax today, although Suga knows he had showered after volleyball practice before meeting him here. It mixes with the grapefruit smell of his shampoo.

 

Oikawa melts for him easily, kisses back with a purr of contentment in his throat, sets his book down to cradle Suga’s face instead.

 

Suga enjoys being the one in charge every once in a while, loves being able to turn Oikawa into a shivery, needy mess, fingers digging into Suga’s skin and long eyelashes fluttering.

 

It would be so easy to do that now.

 

But they’re in public, despite being tucked away in their secluded corner, so Suga keeps his kisses long and sweet, lets his fingers tug lightly at Oikawa’s soft locks, enjoys the languidness of it all.

 

Someone’s lit candles or incense somewhere in the coffee shop. The heady aroma of sandalwood leaves Suga sleepy, leaves him snuggling down into Oikawa’s shoulder when he finally finds the will to stop kissing him.

 

"I’ll read all of the parallel universe theory books you want if I get that response every time," Oikawa breathes into Suga’s hair, fingers drawing slow lines up and down Suga’s arm as he shifts to hold him.

 

Suga smiles, hiding his dorky grin in Oikawa’s sweater.

 

The door is normal today.

 

Suga’s skin doesn’t crawl with that inexplicable energy, his eyes aren’t drawn to the slab of wood and metal, he feels nothing but himself and Oikawa tucked away in this nondescript corner.

 

Today he’s content to merely feel Oikawa’s skin against his, to bask in the weather and decide whether he wants to take any pastries home for dessert later.

 

The rain lulls him to a state of drifting in between here and there, halfway lost in waking dreams and halfway aware of Oikawa humming softly as he continues to read.

 

The coffee shop is warm, cozy, Toffee returns to curl, purring, into Suga’s lap, and Suga lets himself forget about assignments due tomorrow and closes his eyes fully, floats farther and farther away, head lolling on Oikawa’s shoulder -

 

A sudden swell of voices crashes through Suga’s peacefulness, like a wave thundering against the shore.

 

He just catches a bit of a boy’s voice saying, "Honestly Mika, why are you so worried?", his tone bewildered and loud with exasperation, and Suga jolts upright from Oikawa’s arm, Toffee jumping down at the sudden movement, startled. He just catches a flash of a floral headband and the swish of a girl’s emerald, pleated skirt as it disappears around the corner down the short stretch of floor that’s lined with bookshelves that separates this corner from the rest of the shop.

 

There’s a hiss of a reply, too soft for Suga to make out the girl’s words, but sharp enough for him to know she’s angry before the two fade into the distance.

 

"I swear they’re always bickering," Oikawa says suddenly.

 

Suga jumps a little, but it goes unnoticed.

 

"Who?" he asks instead, a little disgruntled — now that he’s more awake — at having been woken from a promising nap.

 

"Yamaka and Daishō," Oikawa muses, flipping another page of his book and not looking up. "They used to be dating but that broke off about three months ago. And right after they had gotten matching tattoos too. Matching adders on opposite wrists, same design, same position, everything."

 

Suga cocks an eyebrow.

 

"How the hell do you know so much about two people we rarely talk to?"

 

"How could you miss them?" Oikawa asks in return, finally looking up and adjusting his glasses. "They were constantly all over each other, on and off their work breaks. And then one day the extreme PDA took a three-sixty and just stopped altogether so I figured they had cut ties. The tattoo thing is just because I’m extremely observant."

 

He flashes Suga a cheeky smile and Suga rolls his eyes, smirks at the smugness.

 

"Well they woke me up," Suga whines a little, curling back into the warmth of Oikawa’s side.

 

"Go back to sleep," Oikawa tells him softly, readjusting for Suga’s weight.

 

And then, almost as if it’s an afterthought, he adds, "Honestly, I don’t know why they still hang around each other so much when all they do is argue. It’s like they’re bound together by this place."

 

 

 

It’s back.

 

The door is back.

 

Not the storage closet door. The other one.

 

Suga freezes in the process of shrugging his jacket off, stops with the tips of his inked-up converse facing it.

 

Moss-green melds with pale, cold jade, mixes and swirls and shifts, like smoke coming from the exhaust of a car in winter. It surfaces and then fades, melts away before returning.

 

Suga looks around, tearing his eyes away from it for the briefest of seconds as he checks as to whether he’s truly alone or not.

 

Oikawa hasn’t made it here yet. His outing with Takeru to get ice cream and play some volleyball had run over, drifting into the lazy hours of the afternoon. 

 

He had texted Suga earlier to let him know he’d be late for the coffee run they had planned to do before returning to Suga’s house for movies.

 

Heikō is mostly empty. The sun has finally drifted below the horizon, painting the small town in the silvery-white of moonlight instead, edging rooftops and telephone pole lines with sterling so that everything looks like an old photograph.

 

Suga has already ordered, is just waiting for their drinks to be ready.

 

And there’s no sign of Yamaka or Daishō or any of the other staff. Toffee hasn’t even made an appearance.

 

Suga moves quickly.

 

He tips his jacket back on, makes sure his phone is securely in the back pocket of his jeans, licks his lips and takes a deep breath, excitement and anticipation tickling across the backs of his shoulder blades.

 

_"This is it,"_ he thinks.

 

And then it’s one step, two steps, three until he can wrap shaky fingers around the cold metal of the doorknob, until he can turn it, turn it, turn it, hear the whisper of a lock sliding out of place, open the door.

 

_"Finally,"_ his heart whispers.

 

The coffeeshop behind Suga fades. It turns shadowy, muted, takes on the same silver hue as the town in the light of the full moon. He can feel it.

 

And in front of him -

 

_"Oh my God,"_ Suga thinks, the hand he still has wrapped around the doorknob falling limp to his side.

 

Gone is the storage closet. Gone are the stacks of extra cups, the rows of syrup jars, the carefully packed stacks of edible flowers.

 

The sight in front Suga steals his breath away.

 

He’s looking at _their_ corner.

 

He’s staring at his and Oikawa’s spot.

 

Suga’s thoughts crash together like waves on the shore, like a train wreck, jumbled and scattered and a broken string of words and periods and commas.

 

All he can do is stand, stunned into stagnant silence. All he can do is drink in as much detail as his brain will process at one time, as fast as his eyes can see it all.

 

Sunlight streams in through the windows in front of him, dust motes swimming through the bright, bright air.

 

The exact same rug that blankets the floor behind him sprawls out before him, a cat lying on it. Not Toffee. No, it’s a dark tabby with bright green eyes that blink up at him with disinterest, ink-black tail flicking behind it.

 

Their table is there, nestled into the nook of windows and bookshelves. Two coffee mugs rest on top of it, steam still swirling and twisting up into the air, ghostly and pale.

 

And, as Suga squints, he can see a phone lying there as well, can see a backpack shoved into one corner of the booth, bright pink and unrecognizable.

 

He moves without thinking about it.

 

He steps through the door, barely even registers the odd wash of something cool, something electric, that flows over him from head to toe, something that feels the tiniest bit denser than air.

 

Suga has to see. He has to _know_.

 

The table is a different color of wood, darker, coffee stains smudging its surface — coffee stains and something engraved into a small corner of it, carefully etched with something sharp, maybe a set of house keys.

 

_SK_ ♡ _OT_

 

Suga sucks in a sharp breath.

 

Those are his and Oikawa’s initials, he knows it.

 

The cat behind him meows. The noise startles Suga so much that he nearly knocks over one of the cups of coffee, spinning around as his heart leaps up into his throat.

 

But he’s still alone. He can just hear the muffled sounds of the coffeeshop up past the small hallway that leads back here, proof that people are here, that more than likely _he’s_ here, just a different version of him, that a different version of Oikawa is here as well.

 

Suga’s heart threatens to pound straight out of his ribcage. All he can think is, _"I knew it."_

 

With sweating palms, he turns back around to the table, ignores the phone and instead grabs the backpack, unzipping it hastily.

 

Inside are textbooks, notebooks, a few crumpled pieces of paper at the bottom, a pack of gum, and two pens.

 

Suga grabs one of the wadded up pieces of notebook paper, unfolds it carefully, smoothing out wrinkles.

 

"Oikawa Tooru," it reads at the top.

 

Below is a hastily scrawled rough draft of some essay. It’s a theory paper on ghosts and the afterlife.

 

Suga drops it back into the backpack, pulse thudding at his wrists.

 

Of course Oikawa could be interested in something else besides aliens in another universe, he thinks hazily. Suga knows this assignment, knows that they both have persuasive essays due next Wednesday. _His_ Oikawa has already finished it, an overwhelming twelve pages on Area 51. Suga had proofread it a few days ago, Oikawa’s head in his lap while he marked it up.

 

Suga swallows past a dry throat, wonder and disbelief fighting for space in his head. He picks up the phone, reads the latest notification that’s typed out across the screen.

 

_"Koushi, could you grab a pack of eggs on the way home? We’re out and Mom’s making tamagoyaki for tomorrow."_

 

The name next to the text spells "Sugawara Kumiko".

 

The phone drops to the floor from Suga’s suddenly numb fingers, from his loose grasp. He barely hears the thud it makes.

 

His brain short-circuits at the same time that his heartbeat skips several beats, shock running cold over him, knocking everything else out of his head.

 

He has a _sister_? Is she older? Younger? What does she look like? Do they like each other? Is she -

 

A hand slaps around his wrist, strong fingers clutching so hard that Suga yelps a little, partly in surprise and partly because he can just _feel_ that there’s going to be a bruise there later.

 

He twists to see who’s behind him, tries to wrench his wrist out of their grip.

 

But Yamaka isn’t letting go. Her eyes burn with fury, with fear, her black nails dig into his skin.

 

"Let’s go," she hisses, yanking him back towards the door he had come in through. It yawns open. Through it, Suga can just see Heikō outlined by the night glowing through the windows, can see two cups of coffee to go resting on their table, can see Toffee prowling back and forth in front of the door as if she’s on edge about something.

 

It’s a negative image of the coffeeshop they’re in now, like a picture that hasn’t been fully developed yet, a copycat version that doesn’t quite match.

 

Yamaka tugs Suga through the door. He’s too shell-shocked to resist, doesn’t even flinch when she sends him to a stumbling stop back in _his_ universe, when she slams the storage closet door closed so hard that Suga swears the nearby windows rattle in their frames.

 

Suga turns around. His brain feels fuzzy. His tongue won’t unstick from the roof of his mouth.

 

For some reason, he almost feels like crying, unshed tears stinging at his eyes.

 

Yamaka is _seething_. Her face is shadowed, mouth pressed into a thin, pale line, a few tendrils of her hair escaping the bun she has it up in and framing eyes that practically spit fire.

 

"What was that?" Suga asks even though he already knows the answer. His voice is rough, sounds like he hasn’t used it in years, grates up his throat painfully.

 

"Shut up," Yamaka snaps, clenching her fingers into fists at her sides. She stands in front of the door like she’s guarding it, feet planted, shoulders braced. "You don’t get to ask questions right now. You -"

 

"What _was_ that?" Suga asks a little louder, speaking over her, the tiniest seed of anger unfurling in his stomach.

 

He grits his teeth. He feels weird. He feels off, his knees threatening to give way, his hands trembling so hard he’s sure Yamaka can see it.

 

He had had a _sister_.

 

And right now, even though he had never known her, had never seen her, it feels like he’s lost someone dear.

 

"That was a different universe, wasn’t it? You can get to it using this door sometimes, but not all of the time. You got lucky that day, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so scared now -," Suga accuses, swallowing past the hurt in his throat.

 

" _Shut up!_ " Yamaka practically shouts, voice trembling. 

 

Her skin is ashen, pale, eyes like dark holes in her face.

 

"Hey, what’s going on back here?"

 

Suga turns around on his heel sharply at the new voice.

 

Daishō Suguru stands behind the two of them, arms crossed over his chest. His thick, dark hair is neatly combed, bangs swooped to the left side, sharp eyes glinting as he takes in the scene.

 

Suga’s eyes drift down subconsciously to Daishō’s left wrist. Delicate, weaving lines of ink decorate pale skin, scales and a long, curling tail and gemstone eyes that seem to spark and burn.

 

The adders on Daishō and Yamaka’s wrists almost seem alive.

 

"Suguru," Yamaka says, breaking Suga from his trance. "He -"

 

She pauses but Suga doesn’t turn to look at her. Daishō won’t stop staring at him.

 

"He went through," Yamaka finishes, voice cold, hard.

 

Daishō eyes flash with surprise, the slightest slackening of his jaw a clear sign of his shock as his eyes shift minutely to look at Yamaka instead.

 

"He did what?" Daishō breathes.

 

Suga is getting tired of them talking about him as if he isn’t even there, still feels half-here and half-there, and he moves, moves to get past Daishō even though he doesn’t have the first clue about where he’s headed.

 

When Daishō puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, Suga reacts. He slaps it away, teeth bared, straightens up so that he’s taller and spits, "Don’t touch me."

 

He’s tired of being pushed around, especially when neither of them are making any move to explain why there’s a door to a parallel universe in this coffeeshop, one that they both obviously knew about before now.

 

Daishō doesn’t back down, just peers at Suga under furrowed eyebrows.

 

"You can’t leave," he says, voice low, serious.

 

"Like hell I can’t," Suga retorts hotly.

 

"After what you just saw," Yamaka answers, "we don’t have a choice."

 

Suga’s heartbeat races in his ears. He can still feel the thrum of the door behind him, can feel it like someone is tangibly whispering into his ear, like someone has their hand on his shoulder.

 

He turns to look at it, gazing past Yamaka’s head. It still shifts, still moves with some unexplainable energy.

 

"Koushi?"

 

Suga jumps, turns around at whiplash speed at the voice.

 

Daishō looks just as startled, spinning as Yamaka curses under her breath.

 

Oikawa stands in front of all three of them, eyes bewildered, dressed in a NASA t-shirt and ripped jeans, his glasses perched on his nose, hair damp and curling from where he must’ve just showered.

 

Suga has never been so happy to see him in his life.

 

He pushes past Daishō before the other can do anything, grabs Oikawa’s arm and tries to tug him away.

 

"Let’s go," he says under his breath.

 

But, in the blink of an eye, Yamaka has somehow moved towards them, sidesteps in front of Oikawa and holds her hands up.

 

"Wait," she says, eyes pleading. "Please, just wait for a moment."

 

Suga pauses. His eyes meet her hazel ones, desperation like he’s never seen shimmering over her gaze.

 

Daishō joins her, the tilt of his mouth just as panicked.

 

Oikawa’s eyes dart from Yamaka to Daishō and then down to the side towards Suga, his brow furrowed.

 

"What the fuck is going on?" he asks, squeezing Suga’s hand. "Kou?"

 

Yamaka takes a breath, peeks over her shoulder to see if anyone else is nearby Suga supposes.

 

"If you stay," she says then, only talking to Suga, her eyes never wavering from his face, her shoulders straight with a show of steely determination, "then we’ll tell you everything. But you have to stay."

 

Suga tightens his grip around Oikawa’s hand, shifts on his feet and bites the inside of a cheek.

 

And then he nods.

 

Daishō sighs. Both his and Yamaka’s shoulders drop, their defensive stances loosening.

 

"I’ll get the coffee," he says. 

 

A door to another world whispers to Suga behind them, holds him close and inks secrets into his skin. 

 

"It’s going to be a long night."

**Author's Note:**

> lsdfj I know I'm late but here's my piece for OiSuga Weekend Day 1 - Coffee Shop AU
> 
> Alsoooooo, don't kill me for the way I ended this fic because I'm actually planning on writing my next long fic using the Suga and Oikawa in the alternate world that _this_ Suga wandered into... meaning there will be ghost-obsessed Oikawa, coffee shop makeout sessions, and Suga's cockblocking older sister, Kumiko, plus alternate universe shenanigans.
> 
> And as always, enter the storage closet to get to my blog [here <33](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


End file.
